


Notre Dame of Panem

by Naty_Mu



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naty_Mu/pseuds/Naty_Mu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired in the novel by Victor Hugo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame, it follows the stories of Rue, a lonely bell-ringer with a deforming scar, Katniss, a gypsy street dancer, Captain Peeta Mellark, Head of the Peacekeepers, and the Minister of Justice, Coriolanus Snow, as they collide in the events that lead to the revolution in the city of Panem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rue, the lonely bell-ringer

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I am so happy to share this with you guys and I have to thank my friend C (breatheliveenjoyrepeat) for being my beta, once again. This fanfiction is split in four parts, each one with a different POV. Tomorrow is Peeta’s, so hopefully we’ll meet again. Thanks for reading! Love, Natalia (embracingmyobsessivetraits).
> 
> Trigger warnings: Contains violence, death of major character, sexual content and sexual abuse. It also refers to issues related to LGBT-themes, racism and rape culture.

The sun is up and so I am. It’s almost time for the first ring of the bells so I need to hurry if I don’t want to be late. And I can’t be late.

I take the shortcut through the cathedral roof, sliding between the gargoyles and saluting them on my way to work. “Hello, Thresh,” I say to the big one, with a serious expression. “Hello, Chaff,” I say to the one missing a hand that seems to smirk my way. “Hello, Seeder,” I say to the one with the pretty eyes, almost feminine.

I arrive to the bell tower with enough time to spare and I watch the sunrise. The colors in the sky and the fresh, cool air make my heart swell. Our beautiful city of Panem, a familiar face, yet unknown in so many ways. Because, even though I have seen the same landscape for my entire 17 years old life, I have never left the cathedral.

I sigh and turn to the bells. I like ringing the bells. I feel like it’s my way to communicate with the rest of the world, even if I’ve never actually meet it. Because, although none of the citizens of Panem know my name, they live following the pace of my bells. They wake with the first ringing of the day, the go to work with the second, the know it’s time for lunch by the time the fifth comes along, and it’s the last ringing the one who marks the bed-time for the pious.

Once the four-note music fades in the awakening city, I return to my chambers. I can’t take my shortcut at this time since someone might see me, but I avoid the rest of the people of the church nonetheless. I’ve been told that none of them wants to see me, which, considering my ugly outside, is understandable. My master, the benevolent Minister of Justice Coriolanus Snow, is the only one who dares to see my disgusting face. He told me once that he is afraid of people thinking the huge, deforming scar over my forehead and left eye is a mark of the devil and will ask for me to be sentenced to the bonfire.

By the time I return to my chambers, it’s already time for my first meal, so I prepare the table and tidy up the place. A little coo distracts me from my chores and I run to the window. A small little bird has his small paw trapped in the edge of the window. I approach it slowly, my hands in his line of vision, until it learns to trust me and stops trying to escape. I smile while caressing the soft fathers of his back. Then, quickly but carefully, I release it and the beautiful bird flies away.

I look at it for a moment, elevated over the grandiose city, completely free. I wish I could have wings that could take me as high and far as they take them. I wish I were a bird instead of this horrible monster, who has to live in hiding, who lives in fear.

“Have you been slacking this morning, you careless creature?” the voice rings in my ears and my mind freezes. I turn quickly, but not making eye contact. I don’t want to upset him more than I already did. “What excuse do you have to not be studying already?” he questions me.

“I apologize, your grace,” I breathe out, careful not to raise my voice too much. “There was a bird in the window and…”

“Enough of that nonsense,” he interrupts me. “Eat your breakfast quickly so we can start with our lesson. I must go earlier today and you’re making me waste precious time.”

I run to the table, almost knocking it but managing to catch everything on time. I still don’t look at the Master, even though the fact that he has to leave earlier slims the chances of a punishment for today.

I eat my meal in silence, not daring to lift my face from the table. I hear my master tapping his foot against the wooden floor and sighing.

“My unsullied beast, you don’t know how fortunate you are to be here in this precious sanctuary. You’re absolutely oblivious of the marvelous gift that I have given you by keeping you pure, untainted from the outside world,” the master ponders.

“There’re so many temptations outside the cathedral walls, my creature. And a deformed monster like you would have no option but to succumb to the ways of the devils and his minions, the gypsies.”

“I value so much all the things you do for me, your grace,” I dare to say. “And it speaks of your immense misericord that you give so much to an unworthy beast like myself.”

I look up and see the master nodding, pursing his puffy red lips in deep though. “It does, indeed. It speaks volumes of my benevolent nature. But it is because of that same reason that I must protect you from the decadence that falls all over Panem.”

He stands and I finish eating the last of my old piece of bread. After, I swiftly clean the table and go looking for my books to start my studies. As part of his gift to me, to save me from the flames of hell and the eternal damnation, I’ve been educated and I know how to read and write. Everyday I must read from the Bible and some other books the master brings me to feed my spirit.

“I, on the other hand, must attend to the epitome of decadence, obligated due to my high rank position. Festival of Fools is an appropriate name indeed for such a ridiculous display of sinfulness,” he whines. “But, enough nonsense, my creature. Read me what you’ve got there! On this day, more than any other, we need to listen to something holy.”

 

—·—

 

When the master leaves I find myself restless. Every year I watch the Festival of Fools from the security of the bell tower, where I can hear the music and see most of the shows without exposing my self to be discovered.

But today I want to go and see everything from up close. People drink a lot on this day and there’s a big chance no one will notice me. I am supposed to never leave this cathedral for my own protection, but I have always dreamed of going to sing and dance with the rest of Panem.

Even if it is only for a day.

I climb down through the side of the cathedral, hoping nobody can see me and trusting that if the gargoyles don’t conceal me enough, that the festivities will do it instead. The closer I am to the ground, the louder I can hear the tumult of the streets and faster my heart jumps in my chest.

The moment my feet touch the ground, my stomach drops. I did it. Even if I climb right up and go back to my studies, even if the master never finds out about my escape, I can’t undo this. I am disobeying him, dishonoring his trust when he has done so much for me.

I really am a hideous, repulsive monster.

I am about to climb back up when I hear children running towards me. They can see me. If they can see me then I go back, because they would see it and alert their parents. I panic. One of them has noticed me and it’s starting to walk my way. I adjust the hoodie of my coat and run in the other direction.

I find myself in the middle of the celebration. The Festival of Fools is the most popular festivity in Panem, the only day when it’s allowed to dress up in shiny colors and express yourself in anyway you want, without the Peacekeepers detaining you for bad misconduct. The view of the dances and hollering is very different from what I’ve seen years before up in the bell tower.

But not only the people changes, the city transforms in its entirely. The square is decorated in paper of various colors and they put up a makeshift stage, where some people do different types of shows to entertain the crowd. Gypsies mostly run the Festival, another reason for my master to despise the holiday.

This extravagantly handsome man, dress in a ridiculous outfit that intents to portray him as a half fish-man of sorts, is shouting what sounds like poetry. But his poetry sounds nothing like the poetry master Snow has brought to my chambers for me to read. His words speak of skin and fire, of color and desire. His words make my body tremble in fascination and fear at the same time.

This is the temptation his grace always talked about.

I adjust my hoodie and move out of the crowd, trying to put the more distance I can between the decadent man and I.

Suddenly I collide with a small animal, which lets out a bleat in protest. “Careful, friend. You don’t want to be kick by a goat. Trust me, I should know,” a musical voice rings next to me. I turn, careful not to show my face, and find myself staring at a lean and gorgeous girl, clad in a red sparkly dress. Her hair is dark like her skin, the perfect tone to resemble an olive about to ripe. Her eyes shine and dance, with an impossible tone of silver, trying to look through the hoodie.

“And now, the main show of the evening!” the voice of the poet resonates in the square. The girl sobers up and makes a little reverence as a good bye, before diving into the crowd. “The ever beautiful and positively dazzling, Silver.”

The man jumps to the back of the stage, which suddenly seems to be covered in smoke. People cheer, completely unconcerned that there must be a fire in the middle of the show. I am about to run to the cathedral when I see her. The gorgeous girl I run into not a minute ago, emerging from the smoke, all in red, like she was a flame itself.

The image is overwhelming as it is, but then the music starts. The guitar resonates, and the man from before sings with a raspy voice a lonely song about lost loved ones. The girl starts moving then, following rhythmically the accords, and her dress sparkles with every move she makes giving the illusion of real fire encasing her slim and gracious body.

I am unable to move from my spot, dazzled by the elegance of her dancing, the curves of her body and the sparkle of her silvery eyes that seem to outshine the dress itself. Her hands snake around her body, in a never-ending ritual. Suddenly, I feel the urge to dance with her, to hold her, to…

I look away, feeling sinful. I don’t even know what my feelings means, but it can’t be a good thing. I must go back to the cathedral before I am detoured by the devil and get lost forever. The words of my master are still haunting inside my head, taunting me about this huge mistake. Of course, I could not handle being in this festival, filled with people that could never look at me and say the sinful things the buffoon recited.

I try to take the route I came from, but a bunch of Peacekeepers are blocking my way, so I turn around and decide to go to the other side, behind the make-shifted stage. I move fast, careful not to run into people and to avoid them looking at me directly.

When I reach the back of the stage, I see the girl again. Silver, my mind whispers, like it’s a sacred word, filled with magic. She stands with the buffoon, who is trying unsuccessfully to hide his laughter.

“Don’t laugh at me, Finnick,” she complains with that sweet musical voice. “I think everyone could see my undergarments…”

“Well, that’s probably why they cheered so loudly,” laughs the buffoon—Finnick, apparently.

I can see her scowl at him and I smile. The buffoon is ridiculous good-looking and yet, the silver-eyed dancer seems unfazed by him.

I pass them by as fast as I can to run to the security of the cathedral. I am about to get there, when something bright catches my eye. It’s a red shawl. The shawl Silver had on her shoulders just before the show. I look at her and her partner Finnick, absorbed in deep conversation, completely unaware of my presence.

It happens in a second. I go and grab the shawl and I am about to hide it under my coat, when a deep voice stops me on my tracks: “Don’t move a muscle, you filthy little thief”

I look up to find a pair of severe deep blue eyes staring at me. They are unyielding, condemning, filled with a certain fire that demands to follow his authority. And, on top of that, a white uniform that signals him not only as a Peacekeeper, but as the Head of them.

“My lady,” he says, looking above me to where Silver must be standing. “This thief was trying to steal your shawl.”

And as he says that, his hand lifts and torns the hood of my coat, revealing to him and the three guards behind him, my hideous and scarred face. The other Peacekeepers gasp in disgust. The Head Peacekeeper takes a small step back in surprise but doesn’t react otherwise.

“Captain Mellark,” Silver run towards us. She looks at me briefly, without any sign of disgust at the sight of my features. She takes the shawl from him. “I don’t think it’s necessary to involve the justice into this,” she murmurs, only intended for him to hear. But the Peacekeepers behind the Captain laugh.

“Mind your own business, show girl,” one of them spits. “And be thankful of the Captain’s benevolence for not taking you to justice, filthy gypsy”.

The guards laugh at that, but the Captain furrows his brow, ignoring the comment.

“Peacekeeper Marvel, please take the prisoner to the Justice Building,” the Captain says over the laughter, killing it. “His grace, Master Coriolanus Snow will see her punishment.”

“Captain, please, there must be a way to overlook this,” Silver cries behind me. But I am already being pulled to the crowd in direction of the Justice Building. Around me, without the protection of my hood, people stare at me. They make faces of disgust and disapproval. I lower my face, looking at the ground, but the Peacekeeper forces me to look forward.

“Let everybody look at that repugnant face, monster,” he spits my way.

Soon after that, people start to scream obscenities in my face and throwing garbage my way. I can hear the guards laughing at me. But even this humiliation doesn’t scare me. I know that my master will hear about my transgression now. And his punishment will be much worst that some rotten tomatoes.

 

—·—

 

When I enter the Justice Building I don’t do it through the main entrance. They shove me through a back door, and then hose me down with cold water, washing away the rotten fruit of my clothes and body. I hear them laughing at me while they do it, probably trying to aim at my face purposefully to not let me breathe.

When they are done humiliating me, they pull me up and force me to stand. It’s so cold inside this dark building and my wet clothes stick to my body uncomfortably. “You have some curves under those rags, huh? Well, I could have some fun with you,” Peacekeeper Marvel sneers at me, “if I put a paper bag over your head.”

He laughs and the other guards follow him. “She is so ugly. I would not touch her with a stick,” another one quips.

They make fun of me while we go up some stairs, the stone resonating in the empty space. I try to focus on the sound of their boots instead of his words, or conveying in my head the image of Silver, dancing in the square. Finally, they lead me to a huge room, decorated in only grey statues that seem to stare at me, condemning me like Captain Mellark did.

“Your grace,” Peacekeeper Marvel raises his voice. “We found this repugnant creature stealing in the Festival of Fools. Captain Mellark decided we should bring her to you, to decide her punishment.”

“Well, that was very wise of the Captain,” his voice resonates through the room. I can barely see him, up high in an ornate podium, but his expression of disappointment is unmistakable. “What did she steal?” he asks.

The guard mumbles something in his breathe but covers it with a cough, while the other Peacekeepers disguise their laughter. “Some shawl from a filthy gypsy, your grace,” he explains.

My master looks at me with pure disdain. A thief. That is what I have become after all he had done for me. I can almost hear him in my head. I lower my head waiting for his punishment. Probably it will be a week of only a sip of water and a meager piece of bread to achieve constriction.

“I hereby sentence you to be flogged in the public square and turned on the pillory for one hour, followed by another hour of public exposure” he declares.

“NO!” I scream in fear. I know better that to go against him, but I don’t want to face the people of Panem once again. And the whip scares me to death. My master has hit me with a stick when I have deserved it, but a flogging… I start to tremble in fear. “Please, your grace. Please, have some mercy. I apologize. It was a mistake. Please, master, please!”

“How dare you talk to me, an authority invested in power by God himself, with such familiarity, you monstrosity? Take her out my site, Peacekeeper Marvel! Now!” he screams.

I cry desperately. I lost my master, the only person who had protected me in this world that rejects me. I am totally alone. I cry harder, screaming my pleas, until the guards start to hit me to shut me up. Eventually I stop crying, when a feeling of total despair fills my heart. I deserve this. So I must await my punishment.

And maybe after, my master will forgive me.

 

—·—

 

They keep me in a cold cell for the night, but at least I am alone. I hear other people in adjoining cells, some of them whining, some of the, crying, all of them scared. I stay quiet, pondering how different things would have been if I had listened to my master, if I had stayed in my chambers and studied like I was supposed to.

Eventually I sleep for a couple of hours, only to wake up to the noise of the gate opening. Another Peacekeeper grabs me unceremoniously from my arm and drags me out of the cell. We walk the dark passages in silence, only our footsteps being the testimony of our walk.

By the time we reach the square, I see it’s well after sunrise. For a moment there I wonder if the bells of the cathedral were not ranged today, if someone missed my absence. But the bells ring in that instant, like mocking me for thinking there was something I was needed for in this world.

The silent Peacekeeper ties my hands to the pole and lifts my face to face the crowd that has formed. People look at me with apprehension, fear on their eyes clear. If it is there because of my physical appearance or because of my crimes, I will never know.

I feel movement behind me and grit my teeth, bracing myself for the blow. I try to look impassive, take my punishment with courage like a pious person would, to be deserving of forgiveness. But nothing prepares me for the scorching pain I feel in my back once the whip makes its way to my flesh. A whimper escapes my mouth and I see through my tears how the people in front of me wince.

I barely have recover from the first lash, when another one hits me. I blatantly scream now. I can’t see anything, from the unshed tears, but I hear people murmuring near me. And then, I hear the sound of the whip hitting my flesh again. And again, and again, until I lose count of how many times it has hit me.

Everything is pain. I’m at complete overdrive, like my only thought is how bad this hurts. Nothing else exists, not my arms, or my head or my legs. I am only an open wound in my back, screaming for the flogging to stop, for a little reprieve.

It finally stops but my back still burns with pain. I feel myself being dragged and thrown into the pillory, where they secure my hands and head. I hear myself sob while people around me keep on murmuring. Some of them toss rotten fruit at me again, but most of them seem to be silently judging me.

An undefined period of time passes, one that feels like an eternity, and I start to feel hot and thirsty. The sun hits me directly in the face and the sweat drips from me to the ground. The position in the pillory is more than uncomfortable, it’s exhausting and I feel about to faint several times.

“Water!” I scream to the faceless mass of people in front of me. Something is wrong with my vision, because I can only see bright spots and silhouettes. “Water, please!” I scream again.

And then a shadow covers me. I open my eyes and look up, expecting the angel of death to have come to take me. It is a celestial face what stares back at me, but of an earthly angel of music and beauty. My silver-eyed dancer gazes at me with a look full of sorrow and compassion.

She lifts up her arm and I try to recoil from her touch, fearing she has come to punish me also, but instead she gives me a glass of water to drink from. I gulp the water down eagerly and she smiles sadly. “My name is Katniss,” she whispers to me, “but people call me Silver because of my eyes.” She takes off her shawl, the very same I tried to ‘steal’ the day before, and cleans my face with it, dabbing it in water. The feeling is so refreshing that the clouds filling my mind start to dissipate a little. “You can call me Katniss, though. What is your name?”

“Rue,” I let out in a raspy voice that sounds nothing like my own.

She smiles at me. “That’s a beautiful name…”

“That is enough!” I hear a growl in the distance. Katniss turns and looks at the Justice Building, where master Snow is looking at us in anger. “You’re interfering with a sentence, gypsy. Step away from the pillory!”

“Only when you release this poor girl!” she screams, a defiant look in her eyes. “She has completed her sentence already! Let her go!”  

“How dare you to question my authority? Don’t you know who you are talking to?” Snow’s face is contorted in anger and with a flicker of something undecipherable.

“Oh, everybody knows who you are, your grace! You’re the reason this city is perishing to hunger and fear!” she screams back at him. Master Snow smiles at that, but it is not a smile of happiness or amusement. It’s a promised of a punishment.

“Captain, arrest that girl! Now!” The Captain looks at Katniss with fear in his eyes, but moves towards her nonetheless.

“Good luck, Rue!” she whispers to my ear after kissing my cheek and then runs into the crowd, getting lost in the sea of people. The Captain tries to follow her, but eventually looses her and calls the rest of the Peacekeepers to do a search party. The multitude dissipates eventually revealing that she has managed to escape.

I smile, wishing I could touch the spot her lips graced my cheek.

 

 

END OF FIRST PART


	2. The Fair Captain Peeta Mellark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the eve of the Festival of Fools, Captain Peeta has returned to his home city after years at war to become the head Peacekeeper, but a grey-eyed beauty will sidetrack him from his previous endeavor and might lead him to make enemies in the wrong crowd. Second part of Notre Dame of Panem, written for PIP, Day Five: Blue.

The sun is bright and the air warm and electric by the time I reach the main square. I can see the stern and dark figure of the cathedral, watching how the usually quiet and sad habitants of Panem prepare themselves for the festivities with refreshing joy.

I have beautiful memories of this time of year, the prepping of the Festival of Fools. My father, being the city’s most renowned baker, had a lot to bake for the big day, and my two older brothers and I would gladly help with the cookies and cakes that people ordered. My favorite task was the frosting of the cakes, for which my father gave me full liberty to decide on the designs.

I smile at where my train of thought has lead me. I guess after being at war, seeing your partners die for years in an endless sequence of destruction, you are bound to feel nostalgic over frosted flowers and warm ovens. And over a lost family.

But my duty in the war is over. And now I am back at home, the solemn Panem, to fulfill a new duty with my country. I am here to become the new Head Peacekeeper of the city, to replace the deceased Commander Cray. Nobody knows exactly how he died. The rumors go from heart attack to murder by the gypsies. I have never been one for gossip and after the war the threat of gypsies feels almost laughable.

But I make a mental note not to mention this to my direct boss, the honorable Minister of Justice, Coriolanus Snow. The man has retained the title for the last fifty years and it's mainly his endless war on the gypsies what keeps him in the Justice Building.

I climb down from my faithful horse, Buttercup, and let him drink the water from the public fountain while I stretch my legs. It’s been a long ride, in witch we barely stopped for slumber, since my presence was asked specifically for the Festival of Fools that takes place tomorrow.

“You’ll be alright for a moment on your own, right Buttercup?” I ask him, while gently patting his mane. Buttercup whinnies in response and I leave him for a moment to observe our surroundings. I see a patch of greenery and flowers of my favorite color, the warm shade of orange that can be admired in a sunset, and I walk towards it to look closely.

A sweet melody distracts me and I diverge from my path. The music is soft and melancholic but at the same time happy and hopeful, like a love poem. I follow it to a side alley, where a slim figure contorts in graceful movements making her skirt fly in sync with the sound of the guitar. Her hair is the color of an ebony tree and her skin a beautiful sun-kissed tone that contrast with the light faded blue of her dress. I feel enraptured by the beauty of the image.

And then her voice rises to the air, taking all of mine from my lungs. It’s a magical sound, full of color and passion that traps me to my spot. Suddenly, it feels like the whole world has disappeared, leaving no air to breathe, no space to lose her in, no time to age together in, and all that remains is this angel and I, a desperate child begging for the warm embrace of this holy creature, frozen in this moment forever.

The songs ends and the people clap around me. The reality of the world crushes through me like a cold water bucket and I panic. I need to talk to this woman who has stolen my heart with a note of a song.

I walk decidedly towards her, who is already picking up the coins the spectators left her. The guy with the guitar, a dark skinned man who looks like it could be her cousin, picks some of the money and makes a move to leave. “Come on, Catnip. They’ll be here in no time. Hurry up!”

And with that, the guitar player banishes from the alley, barely making a sound on his way. The girl moves to follow him and in a desperate move I grab her arm. She looks up at me in panic and my words die in my throat at the very site of her silvery eyes.

“Who…? Why…?” she mumbles, trying to loosen my grip on her arm. “Are you a Peacekeeper?”

I wake up from my daze and let go of her arm, feeling rather improper to have touched her without her consent. “I apologize. I’m afraid your haunting voice and beauty has bewitched me somehow and made me forget my manners, my lady. I felt absolutely compelled to introduce myself to you,” I explain.

I stand up straight and vow to her. “I am Captain Peeta Mellark, retired soldier from the Dark War, and no, I am not a Peacekeeper but I will be soon.”

I see one hundred emotions pass through her eyes but only manage to recognize a few: confusion, recognition, distrust and amusement. She stares at me, waiting for a something that never comes. I start to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her bright eyes.

“May I ask for your name, my lady?” I ask her. She shakes her head no and looks pass me, probably concern that the Peacekeepers will come. “How about another song, then?” I insist, while searching in my pocket for my last coin. I thrust it in her hand and she looks at me, her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Peacekeepers are supposed to stop gypsies from disturbing the peace in Panem, not encourage it,” she tells me. I smile at that. “Like I said, I am not a Peacekeeper yet. And your voice would never disturb the peace, but bring more of it to people’s hearts,” I dare to add.

She laughs heartily at that and I fall in love with the musicality of the sound. Her face glows in amusement and I decide I want more of this beauty in my life. “Okay, then. If you are so eager to make poetry about it…” she mocks me, but I don’t mind because she’s humoring my request. “Any particular song you want to hear or…”

I shake my head no. She starts singing again, no guitar or dancing this time, a song about a place to call home and let your children run freely and safe. She avoids eye contact with me, focusing instead on the lapel of my jacket, and I must refrain myself from tilting her chin up to gaze into her stormy eyes.

The sound of hooves hitting the cobbled path stops her midsentence and pure fear covers her features. I look behind me and discover the group of three Peacekeepers that ride their horses in the main street, without knowing, in our direction. I look at Buttercup on the other side of the street and take out the carrot I was going to give him for breakfast and toss it across the street with a low whistle.

As expected, Buttercup hears my signal and runs for his meal, never minding blocking the path of the Peacekeepers’ horses and successfully distracting them from their original path into the alley. I turn around to the girl, but she’s already climbing the side of a house. She leaps and lands on the roof smoothly, like she was a cat herself. I am in complete awe when she turns around and whispers in my direction, “Thank you for that, my Captain”.

“Please, tell me your name,” is the last words I say to her back, before she disappears without a sound over the roof of the house.

 

—·—

 

My first meeting with the Minister of Justice goes by in a rush due to the preparations for the festivities. He’s a strange looking man, with red puffy lips and snake-like eyes, and the superior attitude of a man with too much power for his own good. He receives me with little introduction and explains me some of the things he expects of me as the new Head Peacekeeper.

“This is a sacred role you’ve been given, Captain Mellark, and you must take pride in the honor of being my right hand.” He then leans towards me, his strong blood-like breaths making my eyes water a bit, and I have to fight the urge to pull away. “We are in this position as it was God’s intention for us to be. We’re here to fulfill his duty, to cleanse the city from the vermin that corrupts her.”

He looks directly at me, his expression cold and full of hate, and whispers, “The gypsies”.

I nod absentmindedly. I have no interest in his personal persecution against the gypsies and I plan to follow the rules by the book, not his insane caprice. I will not participate in it if I can help it. But I know better than to oppose him openly.

Apparently satisfied with my response, the minister dismisses me and I am left to attend to my personal affairs, which mostly involve getting acquaintance with my landlord in the house that has received me. As an orphan of the Great Fire of the City, I have no family to ask for assistance, or lands to reclaim. But my name remains unsullied and even glorified by my military career; therefore the mother of a late former campaign partner agrees to receive me for a few coins until I can find a place to settle.

The next day, I present for work an hour before the beginning of my shift. I introduce myself to my subordinates, who are not very thrilled, as to be expected, that a man foreign to the institution has taken the place most of them must be craving. These are not ideal circumstances to work in, but I’ll manage. After all, I’ve been through worst.

I organize the troops in different places around the square, where the majority of the population will be, and left a few smaller squads to make rounds around the rest of the city, where thieves could try and take advantage of the Festival to strike the nearly empty neighborhoods.

“It’s a nice plan and all, boss,” a blond named Cato, who seems to think his height and broad shoulders are menacing, quips, “but you probably don’t need those little squads. The Festival of Fools is a gypsy festivity.”

I cock my eyebrow at him, not following his train of thought.

“All the gypsies will be at the square…so the rest of the city will be calm and peaceful. No crimes at all,” he smirks. I ignore the comment and decide to put him on one of the small squads, which does not please him.

Once all the teams are set, I go a fetch Buttercup to start our rounds. Behind me, three of the Peacekeepers with the best evaluations from the previous Head Peacekeeper ride their own horses. We are to make rounds through the crowd in the square, to assure no problems disrupt the fun.

I can observe part of the show at some points. A bronze hair man in a mermaid costume, who calls himself the King of Truants, now runs the festival and presents the various spectacles including one in which he recites poems himself. The people are elated and cheer at them gleefully with the carefreeness that seems to define this day.

The change happens in a moment, after the King of Truants presents the main act of the evening. The word Silver resonates in the now silent crowd as the smoke fills the stage. I recognize her silhouette immediately, before the glow of her red dress is visible making her look like a living flame. She dances and her dress moves with her, creating an illusion of fire encasing her petite body. And I crave to touch her again, to reach out to feel her smooth caramel skin.

“Captain!” Peacekeeper Marvel shouts at me to gain my attention. “Should we move to continue our rounds?” he asks in confusion. I nod and instruct Buttercup to move, turning in the direction of the stage.

When we reach the side of the stage I realize we are calling too much attention to ourselves. I want to steal a glance at the beautiful dancer, but I can’t do it unnoticed unless we go on foot.

“We should take a leap without the horses, make sure everything is all right in the back,” I explain, while tying Buttercup to the pole. The Peacekeepers seem perplex but don’t question me and do the same with their horses, and follow after me.

The beautiful girl is in the back talking merrily with the King of Truants, when a person concealed in a dark coat moves to take a red shawl from the girl. I react before I even know what I am doing.

“Don’t move a muscle, you filthy little thief,” I growl at the disguised person, who turns to me but continues to hide her features from my sight. I venture a look above her, at the place where the girl was talking a moment ago only to find her alone, her gaze fixated on mine.

“My lady,” I explain to the accusatory silvery eyes, “this thief was trying to steal your shawl.”

In anger, I tear the hood of the coat from the thief’s head. The Peacekeepers behind me make sounds of disgust to the sight of her scarred face. But it’s not her scar what surprises me, but the expression of utter fear in her features. It’s an expression I have seen many times before in the war, in orphan children and beaten females. The resemblance takes me aback since people in Panem are protected from those kinds of sufferings. Or they are supposed to be.

“Captain Mellark,” Silver run towards us, taking the shawl from my hand and gracing over my fingers ever so slightly. “I don’t think it’s necessary to involve the justice into this,” she murmurs in a sweet low voice that makes my heart leaps in my chest, but the laughter of the Peacekeepers behind me awakens me to the reality of the situation.

“Mind your own business, show girl,” Peacekeeper Marvel spits. “And be thankful of the Captain’s benevolence for not taking you to justice, filthy gypsy.”

I must refrain myself not to take out my sword and cut the insolent schmuck in half. Instead of that, I simply send him away with the thief. “Peacekeeper Marvel, please take the prisoner to the Justice Building,” I demand. “His grace, Master Coriolanus Snow will see her punishment.”

“Captain, please, there must be a way to overlook this,” Silver cries with pure desperation as the guard takes the girl with him. I signal the boys to continue the rounds without me.

“I am the Head Peacekeeper,” I respond. “I can’t overlook crimes.” She eyes me then, as if asking me in silence about the day before, but says nothing about the incident.

“I guess a lot can change in a day,” she remarks, her eyes sad when they look away.

I look behind me. We are alone in the back of the stage. “Maybe today you will tell me your name,” I whisper. She lifts her gaze at me, surprised.

“Why would you want to know?” she questions.

“I need a name for owner of the most beautiful voice I have ever heard,” I state solemnly. She narrows her eyes in suspicion, making the silver in them shine even brighter.

“They call me Silver,” she says, “because of my eyes.”

“But that’s not your real name,” I take a guess. She nods. “May I have your real name?”

She hesitates and purses her lips in the most entrancing way I have ever seen. I want the feel of those lips on my own more than I want my next meal. I feel a warm sensation in my lower abdomen and I know I am lost forever because of this girl. Whatever she asks of me I will give to her.

I lean into her, tempting an arm around her waist and searching her lips for a kiss. Her scent is intoxicating and her breath so very warm and delicate. I want to get lost in her in this very moment, in this very place.

“It’s Katniss,” she mumbles, pulling away from me. I sigh, defeated after her rejection.

I watch her face change with a dozen of different emotions, like a storm that ravages an otherwise calm, beautiful landscape. I don’t know what I expected but it’s definitely not the image of her turning on me on anger and poking on my chest.

“You don’t understand, do you?” Katniss sneers at me. “What you did to that girl?”

I look at her bewilder. “She committed a crime, Katniss. But the punishment can’t be that great, it was a small offence.”

“You really don’t know,” she shouts. “If she had fair skin like you, maybe you would be right. But the punishments are not the same for those of us with a darker shade of skin color. You sent her to the wolf that hunts down my people!”

“There will be nothing just about the punishment that girl will receive!” she finishes.

There’s a loud noise nearby. She looks behind me then and I turn to look for the source of the commotion, but everything seems to be in order. When I turn to Katniss, though, there’s no sign of her.

 

—·—

 

It is with shame that I see how right was Katniss. The poor girl takes the 20 lashes and nearly faints from the pain, but after that, her punishment isn’t over. The people of Panem observe the ordeal in a mixture of judgment and apprehension, but mainly refrain themselves of participate in further humiliating the girl. Some of the peacekeepers throw rotten fruit at her, but a signal from me it’s all that takes for them to stop.

When the girl pleas for water, I am not surprised to see Katniss walking up to the pillory and making the girl drink from her pouch and cleaning the sweat from her brow with her shawl. But I am rendered speechless, for I have never met a person like this girl, so full of compassion and forgiveness. Watching her now, murmuring soft words to that poor mangled girl, my heart aches for her.

And I can see around me how the rest of the people react to her actions. These people used to be hoarded by the law and under fear of terrible punishment, are astounded by this selfless gypsy girl, who has nothing more than any of them but a bigger heart.

“That is enough!” I hear a growl to my left, where the Minister of Justice stands right next to me, fuming in anger. Katniss turns and looks at where we are standing. “You’re interfering with a sentence, gypsy. Step away from the pillory!”

“Only when you release this poor girl!” she screams, fearless and powerful despite her size. “She has completed her sentence already! Let her go!”  

“How dare you to question my authority? Don’t you know who you are talking to?” Snow reddens in anger and his eyes promise a hell to be unbound.

“Oh, everybody knows who you are, your grace! You’re the reason this city is perishing to hunger and fear!” she screams back at him. The expression on the minister changes and suddenly I am more than afraid for Katniss.

“Captain, arrest that girl! Now!” I look at Katniss, hating my place in this ordeal more than ever, but move towards her nonetheless. She turns back to the girl for a moment and then dives in the crowd, disappearing from my view in matter of seconds. I try to look for her, but there are too many people in the square, all of them seemingly collaborating to her hiding.

“Marvel, Cato, look at the south end. Brutus and Gloss, I want you in the north exit,” I start directing the Peacekeepers, while silently praying that we won’t find her, no matter what that might mean to me as Head Peacekeeper.

 

—·—

 

The search for Katniss fortunately turns out to be unsuccessful. The Minister calls me to his chamber to demand of me to bring the insolent girl to him, to pay for her crimes not mattering if it means to burn the entire city to the ground. I salute him and prepare the search party, keeping to myself my opinion on how this is more about a bruised ego than a crime and, further more, how despicable of him is to suggest a new destructive fire as a mean to obtain what he wants.

I shudder at the though of him finding Katniss, putting her in the position that other girl was in today, humiliating her to asses his power over her and all his detractors. I now realize that the reason Coriolanus Snow has remained so long in power has more to due with how aggressively he puts down his detractors than how much good he has brought to his supporters.

Despite the order of using all the troops for this task, I leave half of them to attend the regular matters of the city. I refuse to let this city at the mercy of crime for the whim of an old man, even if I have to at least pretend to follow his instructions. I disguise my antagonism by ordering the men I am sending to general duty that they are still looking for the girl but in secret and that they must bring any information they might obtain to me.

It’s a dangerous move, but if anyone finds her, I hope it is me, for I could help her leave the city. There’s a city two days on horse from here, where gypsies are not persecuted like in Panem. Buttercup could take her there and she’d be safe. But for that, I must get to her before the Minister does.

The day ends without any clue of where Katniss might have run away to, and I feel a little hope. “Gypsies do this all the time, Captain,” Peacekeeper Dairus tells me, while pushing his red hair away from his forehead. “They disappear into thin air. Some say there is a secret city somewhere in here, the Court of Miracles, where they hide from Minister Snow”.

“How could they hide an entire city under our noses?” I ask, incredulous to this old folks tale.

Darius shrugs but looks down meaningfully. Underground, I realize. Using the sewer system they could disappear in matter of seconds. I recall how every time I’ve seen Katniss, she banishes as fast as a lightning. And not only her, but also the other gypsies I’ve seen her with, like the guitar player from the first time I saw her or the King of Truants.

I keep this information to myself, though. I am sure it will be at service at some point, if it ever comes to smuggle Katniss out of the city. So far she seems to be doing well on her own, though, which foolishly gives me hope on keeping her close to me for a little longer.

The next day, we interrogate the citizens for information on Katniss. Most of them say that they only know her as Silver as she usually dances in the streets when peacekeepers are not around, but they haven’t seen her since the day prior, when the incident in the square took place.

“They are lying,” Peacekeeper Cato spits out at me. “They aren’t telling us anything because we’re not being hard enough with them.”

“There’s no proof of them committing any crime, therefore no need for use to use brute force, Peacekeeper Cato,” I reply.

“I don’t mean to undermine you, Captain, but we don’t need to use the brute force just make them think we will,” Peacekeeper Brutus says to my right. “Let us try with the next family, Captain. We promise results.”

I stare at him dubiously but agree anyway, prepared to stop them if anything gets out of hand. They both separate from me and go to the next house on foot, while I stay behind with the horses. A middle-aged, dark skinned woman answers the door and looks at us in fear. “How may I help you, gentlemen?”

“We are looking for the gypsy that goes by the name of Silver for the crime of obstruction of justice,” Peacekeeper Brutus growls at her, making her shake like a leave on her spot.

“I don’t know where she is, gentlemen,” she mumbles.

In matter of a second, Brutus holds her arm and pulls her away from the doorway to push her to the ground, making her fall on her knees in front of both him and Cato. The woman lets out a whimper and keeps her eyes on the ground. I climb down from my horse quickly, seeing that this is going nowhere but south.

“You’re a gypsy too, aren’t you old hag?” Brutus growls again. “Do you really expect us to believe you don’t know where your disgusting kind hides?”

“I swear I don’t know where she is,” the woman cries openly now, hugging her middle.

“Don’t lie!” Peacekeeper Cato shouts at her and draws out his sword.

“Peacekeeper, put your sword back in its case,” I demand, but both Brutus and him turn to me with their swords in hand.

“I don’t think we are going to keep on listening to your orders, Captain,” Cato mocks me. “The Minister wanted us to bring you to Justice, but I think he will be very pleased to know we got rid of the gypsy lover anyway.”

Years of working in the military had taught me when an enemy is about to pounce. No matter that they are two and I am only one, there is a clear advantage in my knowledge of real battles and expertise in sword fighting and hand to hand combat. But it would be too easy for them to force the old gypsy to surrender, only to murder her in front of me right after. I know how men like this think and therefore I know she must flee the scene right away.

“Run!” I scream to the old lady, while I block a swing from Cato and push him off me. Brutus is in front of me in an instant but I am quickly to disarm him. He reaches for the blade in his boots and throws it at me but I duck just in time, managing to pierce through the lower edge of his armor and wound him. The blade comes out bloody and he stumbles and falls against the front of the house.

A loud step alerts me that Cato is back, but I am not fast enough to block him and his sword hits my left thigh. Piercing pain shouts through my body and I stumble for a moment. Cato laughs believing he’s won.

In that moment, a frying pan flies to the side of his head, making him fall to the ground in confusion. The old woman drops the pan in horror and runs towards me. “Hurry up, your must hide now!” she urges me, pushing me to the side of the house.

We reach a small dead-end alley and I panic. Cato will come after us, and with my leg wounded I won’t be fast enough to defend the both of us. But then, I see her kick a rock and jump into a hole in the ground. I stare at the place she was a second ago for a moment until I hear her voice from under me.

“Come on! Before he comes and see the entryway!” she whispers loudly.

I look back to make sure Cato is not behind me and I imitate the move, kicking the rock, that moves a little and I jump in the hole in the ground. My boots splashes in the water of the sewer and my eyes take time to adjust. I am about to say something when I feel a finger press to my lips in a silent plea for me to be quiet.

Then I hear grumbling over me, some cursing, and then footsteps fading away. The woman lets me go and smiles at me. “Thank you for that, Captain, but I’m afraid you have become an outlaw now too.”

I laugh quietly. “It appears so,” I sigh.

“Don’t worry, Captain. Miss Katniss will be happy to tend to you,” she smirks. I look at her in astonishment, which makes her grin. “You will find her if you follow the blue path,” she says while showing me a streak of paint that stretches through the wall to the west. “That’s the path to the Court of Miracles.”

My jaw drops and I swallow thickly. “Are you coming with me?” I ask her.

“No, I must go find my kids and alert them on what happened,” she explains. “But if anything happens, you just say that you’re sent there by Hazelle Hawthorne, okay boy?”

I smile at the use of the word boy, since no one has called me that in over a decade, and nod. I search in my pocket and retrieve my old pocket watch. “I don’t have much with me, but please accept this as payment for your help.”

Hazelle smiles at me but shakes her head. “No need for that boy. We gypsies, we help our kind.” And with that cryptic message she disappears in the shadows and leaves me alone in the dark.

 

—·—

 

I follow the blue streak of paint through endless passages for what must be hours until I reach a small clearing.

“Peeta?” a musical voice calls. I halt in surprise to the sound of my first name, instead of my title, when I see her graciously walking towards me. “Oh, no, Peeta, you’re hurt,” she cries when she sees the wound in my left thigh.

“Sword fight,” I explain curtly. She nods. “Hazelle Hawthorne sent me here, to find you.”

She nods again. “Yes, my friend Gale alerted me. I came to find you before you reached the Court of Miracles. I am going to smuggle you in without them knowing.”

“Why?” I question.

“Because it’s illegal for non-gypsies to enter the Court,” she tells me, while holding my hand between hers. “Now, let’s go. We need to tend that wound.”

Katniss covers my hair and face, to fair to pass for gypsies’ features with a brown shawl, but my armor can’t be hidden, so we remove it. I am left in almost only my undergarments but, funnily enough, Katniss seems more embarrassed by my state of undress that myself. “We’ll find you something to wear in the Court,” she says, more to herself than to me.

 Finally, we reach a bigger, well-illuminated clearing filled with tents of all the colors and music, laughter and easiness. Katniss pulls me through the passages with less people, though no one seems to mind our presence. When we reach a small tent of dark green, she stops and signals for me to enter while making sure nobody is watching us.

The inside is not very big but it compensates on coziness. The floor is a large colorful rug, while multiple bright ornaments hang from the ceiling. Her bunk is on one side, using half the space despite it being very small. There is also a small trunk, half open, where a red sparkly fabric peaks from the edge.

“I need to clean your wound,” Katniss says, color filling her cheeks, “so you’re going to take off your pants.”

I smile at her demure attitude and make quick work with my belt buckle, pulling my pants down slowly, trying not to touch the lash on my leg. I sit on her bunk, while she tends to my wounded leg in silence. “Are you a healer?” I inquire.

“No, my mother was,” she replies. “I am absolutely terrible at it”.

I shake my head, disagreeing with her but saying nothing. I watch her cleaning the wound with a little water and then applying some herbs. “I will heal faster,” she explains and then covers my thigh with a bandage. I pull up my pants as soon as she’s finished to avoid making her even more uncomfortable.

“Did you hear that?” she asks.

A dark figure looms on the entryway and Katniss goes out and see. Not after she steps one foot out of the tent, four gypsy men pass by her side and head towards me. “Wait, no. He’s here with me,” Katniss pleas with them, but they ignore her. I try to pick up my sword to defend myself, but they are too fast and I am still wounded.

“You know the law, Katniss,” the King of Truants says looking at me, a serious expression on his face. And with no further words they whisk me out of Katniss’ tent to a makeshift square and make me stand at the edge of a small fountain.

“Captain Peeta Mellark,” the truant shouts for all the gypsies to hear. “You have broken our laws by soiling our sacred ground and therefore I condemn you to death by hanging.”

“Wait,” Katniss appears in front of me but looks away quickly. “I’ll marry him,” she says.

The King of Truants looks at her in disbelief. “Are you sure about this, Katniss?”

“Yes, Finnick,” she whispers.

“Okay then…” he deflates and turns to me. “It’s either this or death, Captain, your choice.”

I look at Katniss, who is silently pleading with me and I nod, barely sure if I understand what is happening anymore. The King of Truants, Finnick Odair, marries us in a fast ceremony. At the end, he grasps my hand and smiles at me. “Now, you’re one of us, Peeta.”

The gypsies erupt in a celebration, but Katniss manages to sweep me away from it in no time. This time, when she holds my hands, I wonder if she also feels the electricity that surrounds our touch.

But, no, I can’t think like that. She has never showed me any indication of having feelings for me. She was just trying to save me, helping me as she helped that poor girl in the pillory. She’s a gentle soul and her actions have more to do with compassion than passion itself.

By the time, we reach her tent I can barely stand her skin on mine, feeling as it burns me with a desire I can never fulfill, not honorably. I drop her hand the moment we enter the small space and Katniss turns to me in confusion.

“I don’t understand why would you do such a thing,” I look at her, the desperation palpable in my voice. I need an answer from her, or my head will win this one out and convince that this beautiful goddess could actually feel something for me.

“What? Did you expect me to let you die?” she glares at me. My body sags. Well, that answers the question. She does have feelings for me: pity. She just married me to save me. And now I am forever bound to this dream girl who doesn’t love me back.

“I appreciate what you did for me, Katniss, I really do,” I tell her while standing up, “but this is a mistake. I should leave the city. Maybe you can annul the marriage on the account of never being consummated.”

I turn to leave, grabbing my sword from the floor. My leg still hurts, but there must be a wait out of this city that the Peacekeepers don’t know about. The gypsies have been moving around the city under their noses for so long, I just need to ask one of them. I am about to go look for Finnick Odair when I feel Katniss touching my arm. I didn’t even hear her move behind me, but again she is always so graceful and silent.

“Wait,” she whispers, “I don’t want you to go.” Her small caramel hands envelope mine, putting the sword back in the ground, and I feel again the electricity between us. I look into her eyes, shining with silver hues but hiding a fire brighter than the fake flames of her dancing dress. I can’t help myself, even if I know it’s wrong, and my mouth is on her before I realize what I am even doing.

Her lips are so soft and her breath so warm I desire to be devoured by her. Her hands travel to my chest, while mine find their way to her bare back. I am helpless to the guttural moan that escapes me when I touch her soft skin.

I break the kiss in that moment, pressing my forehead against hers and sigh. “Thank you for that. It was a beautiful way to say goodbye.”

“You mean you’re still going to leave me,” her voice sounds small, vulnerable, almost like it doesn’t belong to this fierce woman. I look at her and see sadness in her gorgeous features. My stomach drops at the sight and I can feel the hope rising again.

“I don’t want you to be married to me because you ought to,” I explain. “I want you to be married to me because you want to be… because you want me.”

She gazes into my eyes and smiles at that. “You don’t remember me, but I do remember you, Peeta Mellark,” she confides. I furrow my brow in confusion. “We met before you left the city, before the great fire, when you were the baker’s son and not the war hero.”

I’d never mentioned my family to her, not even to anyone. It’s been years since I talked about them, the memories too painful to be brought to the present.

“How can you…? How?” I mumble.

“You must have been sixteen or so and I was only twelve, but you treated me with kindness. Your mother had screamed at me, shooing me away from your store, where my sister and I were looking at the beautiful pastries. Our family was poor and we were always hungry. But you went after us and gave us a golden bread filled with raisins and nuts.”

The smile she has on her lips while recalling this day fills my heart with pride and joy, more than any successful war quest ever did.

“I wanted to kiss you right there, but you left before I could even say thank you. So, my sister and I ran home and share the bread with our parents. It was one of the last good memories I have from them,” she finishes.

“I wish I remembered you,” I smile at her. “What happened to your family?”

Her face falls at the question. “They passed away no so long after that…in the great fire,” she clarifies.

I don’t ask further. That’s how I lost my family too. That is how many people in Panem had lost a loved one. I squeeze her hand as a silent sign of understanding.

She leans towards me and touches my lips with hers ever so slightly. “I do want you, Peeta Mellark,” she whispers to my lips. “I think I might always have.”

I feel her words on my lower abdomen, where they seem to sink in. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather my bearings. All of this feels unreal, like out of a fantasy, and I fear I might wake up in my bed still too far from her. When I open my eyes I see her observing me, her gaze full of vulnerability.

I capture her lips in mine and lower her to the bed, all traces of doubt banishing from me. I mold my lips to hers, probing her, sink my teeth into her bottom lip, eliciting a whimper from her, and let my tongue taste her own, letting hers into my mouth as well, until we are both panting and pull away.

I look into her stormy eyes and sigh. I’ve been with women before, but it has never felt like this, completely overwhelming. She makes the whole world disappear until all that remains is her, but the though does not scare me. It feels right, meant to be, like we’re destined to be the only two people left in this God forsaken world.

My gaze drifts to her chest and I see how the collar of her dress is barely covering her left breast. She sees me looking and laughs at my expression. I must look positive tormented by now. Ever slowly she pops the buttons of the dress and takes my right hand in hers, moving it under the garment and letting me touch the caramel skin of her breast.

I close my eyes at the sensation and let my hands discover the curves and slops of her torso, while enjoying the musical whimpers that escape my wife’s mouth. My fingers grace her nipple softly but briefly and I hear a clear complaint in the moan that follows my hand dropping to her side.

I let my lips explore the skin of her neck, her collarbone and finally her breast, all while inhaling her delicious fragrance. When I get to the dark brown nipple I let my tongue taste it first, enjoying the velvety softness for a moment, before alternating between sucking it and lapping at it. All my movements are followed by a new sound from my goddess that encourages me to keep going, to bring her to the brinks of pleasure.

I use my right hand to lift up her skirt, looking for the hiding place between her legs while caressing her supple thighs. I feel her tremble under me and I stop on my track.

“Have you ever…?” I mumble against her skin. I look at her and see her shaking her head no. “I’ll be gentle,” I promise.

She nods eagerly and I smile lowering myself to her middle. I want to taste her juices and bring her to ecstasy before I even get pleasure of my own. I take off her dress and her stockings slowly, watching her tremble in anticipation. Then I slide off her undergarments, to completely bare her to me.

Blushing, she covers herself up and scowls at me. “You are completely dressed! That is hardly fair!” she complains, earning a chuckle from me.

“You’re right,” I smile. I take off my shirt to placate her, but leave my pants on, not trusting myself to be fully nude around her and not getting lost in the seeking of pleasure of my own.

I caress her naked body while lifting her legs to my shoulders. Katniss looks at me positively confused until my tongue touches her lower lips and her eyes roll to the back of her head. I lap at her opening, letting my tongue intrude a little, earning a throaty whimper. Then I move up north, to the spot that makes the ladies tremble and suck on it.

Katniss cries in pleasure and bucks her hips violently to the point I have to pin her down with one arm. I use my free hand to caress her folds and then introduce one, two, three fingers, curving them up while I keep on licking and sucking on the little bundle until finally she falls with a glorious loud moan.

Her body shakes on its own volition and I let myself fall to her side while massaging my jaw. When she comes to her senses, she turns to me and kisses me deeply, lapping at her juices running through my chin. The move makes my dick to jump and poke her in her thigh, eliciting a laugh out of her.

“You are still overdressed”, she murmurs into my ear, and my hand flies to my belt buckle to free my lower half from my pants. She laughs again when she sees my enthusiasm. “I though you didn’t want me,” she confesses.

“I could never not want you”, I growl to her lips, while turning her to straddle me. She looks livid about the position, probably preoccupied of how exposed to my eyes it makes her. “It’ll be better this way, you’ll have most of the control,” I tell her.

She casted a wary look to my genitals, blushing a little to the sight of them completely bare before her. “You are so pure,” I smile.

“How can you say that?” she refutes, “I am naked on top of you.”

I nod happily, while grabbing my dick in my left hand and letting it slide against her lower lips, bathing it in her juices. Her eyes roll back instantly and I hold myself from plunging into her all at once. Instead I go slowly, while massaging her right breast with my other hand.

Her face is scrunched, waiting for the pain to come, but it never seems to do. I let myself bury myself to the hilt and she moans. I repeat the motion, faster this time, colliding our hips together, and she moans louder. After a few times, she starts to move too, rolling her hips against mine in the most delicious way.

I grunt and she looks at me, our gazes fixed on each other. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I just want to be united with her like this forever. I let her move, control me, ride me. I watch her enjoy my body like I am enjoying hers. I have been with other women before but it never felt like this because we were only bodies moving together. But Katniss and I, we are more than just a fleeting connection of limbs.

She falls down to my chest and I kiss her. I grab her hips and I snap my own against her fast and hard. It might hurt a little tomorrow, but the screams of pleasure she’s letting escape from her lips only spur me forward. And then she trembles above me, her walls fluttering around my dick, milking my own ecstasy and making me fall the precipice with her.

I pull the covers around our still naked bodies, not bothering to clean up. I feel her kissing the skin of my collarbone and neck relentlessly and I know I will have a mark tomorrow. I laugh at the thought. There’s nothing that will fill me with pride like the physical evidence of being with my beautiful bride.

“Did you hear that?” Katniss says, sitting up in the bed. I sit up behind her, kissing her exposed shoulder. “I didn’t hear anything,” I whisper to her skin. Katniss gets out of the bed, awarding me with the beautiful sight of her perfectly round ass only to hide it from me when putting on her camisole.

“I am completely opposed to whatever this is that requires for you to be clothed,” I state, while standing up also and putting on my undergarments. Katniss laughs at that, blushing again but daring a look at me if ever briefly.

“I’m just going to look if there’s a problem. I’ll be right back,” she says.

“No, let me,” I say, while throwing my shirt over my shoulders. I go to grab my sword when, Katniss face turns pale and a piercing pain in my back stops me on my tracks. I can hear the knife being pulled away from my mangled flesh, a sickening sound only surpass by the choke scream of pain from Katniss.

I fall forward, feeling weak. My ears are drumming and there’re bright spots in my vision that don’t allow me to see the whole scene, but I can still hear his voice: “You’re coming with me, filthy gypsy whore,” the Minister sneers, “and you will pay for the murder of the Head Peacekeeper, Captain Mellark.”

And then all I hear are Katniss’ screams for help, even long after they take her away from me.

 

 

END OF PART TWO


	3. Our grace Coriolanus Snow, the Minister of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Minister of Justice, Coriolanus Snow prides himself of being the pristine vicar of God in the city of Panem. But the dancing gypsy brings with her lecherous thoughts that don’t agree with him, and she must be stopped. Part 3 of Notre Dame of Panem. Written for PIP: Violet (Purple).

The incessant tick-tock of the clock doesn't let me sleep. Or it might be my thoughts. They're indecent, disgusting, and entirely sinful. They don't belong to me. They were planted by a seductive witch, a succubus. A follower of Satan brought to this world to make pious men fall to their doom.

And she has enchanted me, with her inciting dancing and sinful curves. Because of her spell now I have committed a crime after a lifetime of impeccable behavior.

In that moment, knowing that the insipid captain had touched the very skin I desired to possess, I lost myself. I wanted revenge.

But now that my mind isn't clouded by her witchcraft, I see that he was as much of a victim as I am. Why else an honorable man like him would throw his life away for a gypsy woman?

I look at the clock in the wall and get out of the bed. In moments of weakness I must turn to our higher law, so I get dressed and head to the cathedral.

The moment I enter, the flickering light of the candles sooths my soul and I feel at peace with myself. I vow a small reverence and say a prayer in silence, as a humble man is supposed to, when a raspy laugh interrupts me.

“Is your conscience finally not letting you sleep, Snow?” Archdeacon Haymitch Abernathy stands on the doorway holding a chandelier, the constant movement of the flames drawing shadows in his features. I take a deep breath, but otherwise not bothering to hide my contempt for this rude man.

“My conscience is as clean as the clothes I am wearing,” I reply eying his nightclothes with apprehension. “I supposed the same could be said about you, Archdeacon. Isn’t that the reason you drink more wine that you should?”

Abernathy laughs heartily. “You know very well how dirty is my conscience,” he counters and I look away. The Archdeacon and I have a disagreement on how I should run things in this city, especially what concerns the gypsies. His opinion, however, holds no matter to me. His religious title does not hide the dark color of his skin and his obsession with equal treatment for Panem citizens and gypsies alike must come from a secret gypsy heritage.

“But I think you have come here tonight,” he whispers while sitting next to me in the bench, “because even you can’t justify the persecution of this young girl.”

“She is an instigator,” I refute, “and that is a crime in our city.”

“Is that really the reason why you have moved an entire troop of Peacekeeper to find a girl who’s only crime was to fetch a prisoner some water?” he inquires. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Snow.”

“I am the Minister of Justice, Abernathy, and you will refer to me as your grace or with my full title,” I shout at him.

“Don’t evade the question, your grace,” he answers. “You think you are above the law because you are the one to enforce it, but you are just another common person in the eyes of the Lord. And he will punish you for your crimes.”

It’s my turn to laugh at his accusation. “The gypsies are the ones that have filled this city with temptation and decadence, they have brought sin to our pure citizens. I am only doing His work by cleansing the streets.”

“Do you not fear facing Him after all you have done? How do you think He will judge you for keeping a poor innocent girl look up in a tower as a slave?” he spits my way.

“The Lord invested me in this role and I am sure He supports my judgment,” I say while standing up. Hearing enough from this clown, I decide to pay a visit to the bell-ringer.

“Release that girl, Snow,” he admonishes me. “Or this will be your downfall.”

I step out of the chapel without another word.

 

—·—

 

When I reach the secluded chambers Rue lives in, the stink of human waste makes me cover my nose with my scarf. I consider who could dispose of the bucket for her necessities and the idea of ordering the Archdeacon to do it crosses my mind.

“Did you catch her?” are the first words she speaks to me. I frown at her lack of manners. But then I look at her state, tied to the bedpost without access to water unless I fetch it for her. No one but me is allowed to visit her in this place. No matter how horrendous her scar might be someone could still want to steal her virtue.

“She awaits her sentence in the dungeons of the Justice Building,” I tell her while walking to the bucket of water I use for her. “It will be read in front of the hole city in a couple of hours.”

Rue moans in pain, but I know it’s not about the bindings. She has never complained about those in the past, accepting her punishments with strength. It is, after all, the only reason I have not given up on her salvation.

“She killed a man, my creature,” I tell her softly. “She’s not a good woman. She seduced and murdered the Head Peacekeeper in cold blood.”

Rue looks at me in horror, beads of sweat running through her face. “It can’t be,” she mutters. “She wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“But she did,” I continue. “She is a follower of Satan, an evil witch looking to let doom fall over Panem. She wants us all to perish, to succumb to temptation and sin. And she must be stopped.”

“She was so sweet and beautiful. She was pure light and poetry, fire and wild forest,” she mumbles, like in a feverish dream. I recoil at the nature of the words, at the underlining passion that it’s implied in them.

“Do you have feelings for this woman?” I ask in horror.

Rue lowers her head in shame and I gasp. Perhaps I have been wrong about her and she is lost. For her to feel like this for another woman, it’s an abomination!

“Have you touched yourself thinking of her?” I demand and Rue shakes her head vehemently. “That is a sin!” I growl.

Rue sobs and I recoil. Oh, how deep are the roots of this woman’s sorcery. She has even confused this poor, innocent creature of having sinful thoughts towards someone her own gender. I shiver at the idea of the years I have spent saving this girl being wasted on a witch’s whim.

“Don’t worry, my creature,” I say, fetching the sponge and soaking it in water. Rue drinks from the sponge with desperation as the little beast she is. It’s not her fault, I remember myself. “I know how to solve this situation,” I think out loud.

Rue looks at me in question, but doesn’t speak. She might be a beast, but she’s well train. “You and I both are victims of that witch spell,” I explain. “Just like Captain Peeta Mellark was and maybe countless others. There’s clearly only one solution for this.”

I drop the sponge in the bucket of water and smile at my beast. “I’ll save your soul from her, my creature.”

Rue looks up at me in fear, no doubt understanding the meaning behind my words.

“Please, master,” she says reaching to touch my shoes. I flinch but let her kiss the hem of my tunic nonetheless. “Please, don’t hurt Katniss,” she pleas.

So, that’s her real name, I think to myself. “I am a benevolent master, am I not?” I question and she nods eagerly. “I’ll give her an opportunity to repent.” I turn to leave. I decide against feeding her the bread as a mean of constriction. “But if she refuses, I’ll have no other choice but to sentence her to death.”

Rue cries at that, but I ignore her. She’s just another victim of her witchcraft. And I must stop this insanity before it spread through Panem like wildfire.

 

—·—

 

The peacekeepers are surprised to see me in the dungeons. They don’t say a word but it’s perfectly written in their faces. And understandable as well, since nobody wants to be in the dungeons, nor the prisoners not the Peacekeepers. More often than not, the duty falls on those guards dumb enough to get on the Head Peacekeeper’s bad side, and with how fast the title rotates it’s easy to make the mistake before the person took the prestigious position.

I look at Peacekeeper Gloss wondering what he might have done to anger the new Head Peacekeeper, Commander Thread. We walk in silence trough the stone passages until we reach a small cell. With a movement of my wrist, I ask for privacy and Gloss leaves the way we came in.

“What do I ought this honor?” she asks mockingly, but her voice cracks at the end. Her black hair mussed and her eyes unfocused, she hardly looks menacing. But it’s an act, I remind myself. She is evil, powerful and dangerous. And she must be stopped.

“Katniss,” I savor her name rolling out of my tongue, dragging out the ‘s’ at the end. She looks surprised at the use of the name. “I think we would save time if we agree on being honest with each other.”

Her face sobers and she nods. “Yes, I agree it will save time.”

I walk to her, her arms lifted high over her head in metal handcuffs, and drag my hand over the naked skin of her arm. She flinches at the touch and makes a face of displeasure.

“I am not pleased by this turn on events,” I start, which catches her attention.  “You made me lose a very promising Head Peacekeeper with your witchcraft and sorcery.”

Her silvery eyes practically bugged out of their sockets and suddenly fill with tears. “You were the one to stab him,” se accuses.

“He was already lost,” I sigh, “there was not more to do.” I pick at the hem of her camisole, a sturdy fabric with no aesthetic value, completely different from the dress she danced in on the Festival of Fools. “You had already poisoned him, seduced him,” I lift my hand gracing her full breast and she whines. “You ruined him, like you tried to do with me.” I squeeze her flesh and she starts crying.

“But I am a benevolent ruler, Katniss,” I say while dropping my hand to her waist, “and constriction is an important part of the path to salvation. And that is what I’ve come to offer.”

Katniss looks at me, her face contorted in pain and confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m giving you salvation, forgiveness for all your sins against the city and their inhabitants,” I explain. “But if you refuse, the alternative is death and eternal damnation.”

My hand wanders to her thighs, reaching the hem of her skirt and lifting it up. Her leg lifts up immediately to shield herself from my touch. I slap the leg to the ground and she whines again. “You will give yourself to me, liberating me from this enchant and I will let you go,” I whisper to her ear, reaching again for her inner thigh.

Despite the handcuffs, Katniss starts thrashing around, forcing me to back away from her. “No! No! Never!” she screams. “I chose death over the shame of your hands on me!”

I slap her face hard, making her hit herself with the wall as well. “You filthy little whore! Don’t go acting all demure! I know you’re no longer pure! That’s how you were hidden for so long, you traded your virtue with the Captain for protection! Maybe you didn’t even have a virtue and just opened your legs for anyone, you disgusting gypsy.”

I hit her again with the back of my hand and she whines again. “Peacekeeper!” I shout. Gloss comes to the cell in less than a minute. “Call Commander Thread! I want the Court of Miracles burnt to ashes by tomorrow morning. Let’s see how the gypsies do without their hide out!”

Katniss pales at that and I laugh. Oh, she will pay for this. I’ll make her suffer to her last breath and all of those who might have helped her will suffer too.

 

 

END OF PART THREE


	4. The Silver-eyed gypsy dancer, Katniss Everdeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss is persecuted for a crime she didn’t commit. But in the night before her dead sentence, an old acquaintance will help her find her voice to start a revolution. Final part of Notre dame of Panem, written for Prompts in Panem, Day seven: Black & White.

The rhythmic sound of water droplets hitting the grounds keeps me distracted. I count the seconds between each droplet to busy my mind, to avoid thinking. One. Two. Three. There’re twenty-one of them. A shadow passes outside my cell, darkening momentarily my surroundings. Four. Five. Six. A faint lament can be heard from a distant cell, probably someone beaten harshly. Seven. Eight. Nine. I keep my eyes open despite the fatigue, if only to avoid the blue irises that will haunt me if I close them. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. The full moon outside gives a blue glint to my nightgown, worn since last night and already a little torn on the front.  Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. I try not to think about my friends in the Court of Miracles: Finnick, Annie, Cinna, Gale, Hazelle, the kids… No, I can’t think about them. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. A small “psst” interrupts the relative silence. I ignore it. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Another droplet falls.

“Brainless, are you awake?” a female voice rises, if only loud enough for me to hear. I flinch in my spot. That nickname rings a bell, like a distant memory that I can’t recall right now.

“Who’s it?” I ask to the night in a hushed tone.

“Johanna” the voice answers. “I’m in the cell right next to you.”

“Johanna?” The name is familiar but I feel so numb that it takes me a moment before I remember. “Johanna Mason?”

“How many other ‘Johannas’ do you now, brainless?” she mocks me.

“How…? They caught you?” I ask dumbly. Johanna laughs at me trough the wall.

“Someone’s very perceptive today” she quips. “Wait… Did they hit your head or something? How bad was it?”

Johanna Mason is a gypsy girl as I am; just a couple of years older than me. As myself, she lost her parents in the Great Fire over a decade ago and had to find a way to make a living, to survive. So she became a pickpocket. I don’t like stealing but I can’t find in myself to judge her. I could have been her if it weren’t for Hazelle giving me shelter and Cinna’s dresses that make my street dancing profitable enough to survive.

Johanna and I have never been friends. More than once we fought over meaningless things, disagreeing on how to handle most things. But we respect each other. We know how difficult life has been for the other one. That, however, does not mean that Johanna Mason has ever go easy on me. So, for her to ask me about my well being…

Suddenly, it hits me all at once. Where I am. What happened to Peeta. What the Minister tried to do to me. What he threaten to do to my people. My words choke on my throat and tears cloud my eyes. An oppressive pain fills my chest, making it hard to breathe. My head pounds and I feel the urge to throw up.

“Katniss, don’t!” Johanna speaks through the fog in my mind, her voice a little louder than my inner voice telling that this is all my fault. “Don’t let it get to you! It will be harder after! Stay strong! Stay with me! Talk to me!” she practically shouts.

I nod, even though she can’t see me through the wall, and I focus on the droplets, their choreographed dance soothing. My breathing evens out and the chest pain fades slowly. Eventually, I find my voice. “I’m here. I’m fine.”

“Hang on a second” she says. Less than a minute after, the shadow of the peacekeeper making rounds passes by my door in the other direction. A moment later, Johanna speaks again: “They’re like a clock. It’s annoying, but useful.”

“Johanna, our people don’t know about the minister plan to burn the Court of Miracles” I tell her, still anxious. “I don’t think they even know they’ve been found.”

“They’re smart, they’re survivors. You don’t need to worry about them, Katniss” she replies. “Besides, everybody will be at the square tomorrow.”

“What for? Watch me die?” I ask bitterly. It is what Minister Snow promised me: death and eternal damnation. He did not say how, but I’m sure it will be the cruelest punishment he can give me. Maybe a slow, torturous death will be his message, his cautionary tale for all Panem citizens and the gypsies.

“Do you really not see the effect you have on people, brainless? He’s sending you to death because he’s scared shitless of you power, of your influence” she explains. I gawk at the darkness, unable to formulate a response to her tirade. “He sent the whole Peacekeeper force to haunt you down because of your little stand off.”

“Because I bruise his ego” I retort.

“Because you moved people, you gave them hope that they could stand up for themselves” she refutes. “And I’m not only talking about our people. All of Panem is oppress by that schmuck. They all hate him. You’ve ignited them, Katniss”.

“I didn’t mean for all this to happen, Johanna, I just wanted to help that poor girl” I sob.

“I know. That is exactly the point!” she says cryptically. “Katniss, when you’re up there tomorrow, don’t let them deter you. What more can they do?”

The silence weights between us for a moment before she speaks again:

“Besides, you have nothing more to lose.”

That stops me. Because she is right. The fire took my family. Minister Snow took my husband and my liberty. And he will soon take my life. But, right there, before my life ends he will not own me. 

It’s with that thought that I walk to the square at noon, flanked by two peacekeepers. As Johanna predicted, the place is packed, as if all of Panem had come to see my execution. Snow reads my alleged crimes and I am declared guilty, despite my innocence. His snake-like eyes are fixated on me with an intensity that speaks of hellfire.

“Katniss Everdeen, by the power invested upon me from above I sentence you to the gallows!” the minister shouts.

There’s not a sound in the square when then lead me to death, like the people around me were holding their breaths in expectation. The peacekeeper fixes the noose around my neck and I swallow thickly. The façade of strength I have try to portray slips, a dull ache sets in my lower abdomen and bile raises to my throat.

“Do you have any last words?” the peacekeeper asks me. I remember Johanna’s words. My death is near, but I can’t stop that. Neither they can punish me further nor I can protect those I love anymore.

I look at Minister Snow first, thinking of exposing him on his persecution for my people, on his lecherous offer the day before. But then I look at the people of Panem, olive-skin and fair alike, always observing quietly while one of us suffers. Suddenly my anger turns to them, to us, to me. We all have let this drag on too long. I’ve let this drag on too long.

“I am tired of being a slave, a slave of starvation, of persecution, of the twisted motives of mad men. You can’t stay there, standing still while our children suffer. Stand up for yourself, Panem, and fight!”

“Enough! Hang her already!” shouts Snow. I turn to him, alight in an immense rage that has been dormant for years, which can no longer be tamed: “If we burned, you burn with us!” I growl.

And the whole square roars in response.

It all happens in matter of a minute, so it’s difficult to pin point what happens first. All I know is that all of the sudden, the crowd moves at a frenetic pace and turns against the peacekeepers taking their weapons. The peacekeeper next to me falls to the ground with a knife in his neck and a river of blood oozing from the wound.

I freeze at the sight of him, dead, the red of his blood just as bright as Peeta’s. I see him before me instead, bending over and falling to the ground, his skin ashen in pain. I scream and step away from the corpse and I almost fall over the stage the gallows are settled in.

In the crowd I spot the unmistakable scarred face of Rue, filled with urgency. “Follow me. Hurry! There’s no time!”

I jump from the stage and Rue wastes no time in cutting the bindings on my hands. “We need to reach the cathedral. Inside Notre Dame you would be protected by the law of sanctuary” she explains hastily while tugging my arm.

All around us, people run and fight the few peacekeepers that remain armed, an incessant cacophony of cries for help and shouts of victory and defeat. But Rue is incredibly agile, dodging without difficulties the moving bodies with the grace of a flying bird. We reach for one of the sides of the cathedral, but there are no doors near us.

“We will have to climb. I doubt we can reach the main entrance” she screams over the noise of the fighting crowd. She points at some sort of a balcony adorn by gargoyles as our destiny. I remember climbing trees when I was younger, but never churches. I look behind me, the crowd closing on us and more peacekeepers reaching the square, and I realize there’s no much choice.

I brace myself and climb the wall but I barely manage to reach a window shield when a knife flies near my head and I duck. That, however, does not protect me from the stone that falls over my head. Bright spots cloud my vision and I fight hard to stay steady.

I must fall at some point, but it’s hard to pay attention to what it’s happening around me with the throbbing pain on the back of my head. Rue grabs me and with unnatural force carries me to the top of the balcony. I can barely keep myself awake by now but I am aware of being lifted over her head.

“Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Sanctuary!” I hear her scream at the square, but her voice sounds far away. The crowd roars again and that is the last thing I know before I lose consciousness.

 

—·—

 

“I think she is waking up” a soft voice says. I open my eyes slowly to see the dark bright eyes of Rue staring down at me. She smiles when she sees me awake and I try to smile back, but it probably looks more like a grimace.

“Well, finally! Or were you planning on sleeping during your entire rebellion?” asks a man to my right. I have never met him or seen him up close for that matter, but his grumpy scowl and grey eyes are unmistakable. I try to sit up when I realize I am in the presence of the Archdeacon Haymitch Abernathy, but the back of my head throbs and I am force to lie down again.

“Easy there, sweetheart, you have a concussion and you better stay down for a few hours at least” the Archdeacon explains. I nod dumbly, but even that hurts. Rue brings me a glass of water and makes me drink little sips.

“If you have everything cover, Rue, I think I should head out. We need to find a way out of the Cathedral for you two that won’t alert the peacekeepers. She won’t be safe here for long” the Archdeacon stands up and heads to the door.

 “She can stay here and be safe. She has sanctuary law to protect her. That’s what you said!” Rue looks at the Archdeacon notoriously upset.

“Snow has no respect for the law unless it is to fulfill his desires, Rue. I bet my tunic he’s at this moment at the Court of Parliament, asking Senator Coin to remove Katniss’ right to sanctuary so he can persecute her again.”

Rue hangs her head and nods. The Archdeacon looks at me in deep thought.

“There are ways to move in the city without being spotted, right?” he asks me.

“Yes, tunnels” I explain. “But I don’t know of any of them connected to Notre Dame, your grace.”

“But others might know” he seems to think at loud. “Like the so called King of Truants, Finnick Odair.”

“Yes, nobody knows the tunnels like Finnick” I supply. “Do you know him, your grace?”

“I knew his grandmother, Mags” he smiles. “Sweet old lady. She was a very close friend of my mother.”

“Was your mother also a gypsy, your grace?” I dare to ask. He nods.

“You are among friends now, Katniss” he says before disappearing through the door.

I scowl at the closed door. Friends? Rue, maybe, but him? I don’t even know him. He might be a gypsy, but he must deny his heritage, otherwise he would not have such a position of power. And why would he be an ally now? Why would he observe for years his people suffer under Minister Snow’s persecution?

I look at Rue, her skin as dark as my own, her eyes dark but not quite the typical grey of my people. I realized that even though I completely trust her, I don’t know much about her. She could be, as the Archdeacon, a cross between Panem citizen and gypsy, or maybe a foreign.

“How do you know the Archdeacon?” I ask her. Rue looks at me, a little startled by the question.

“I didn’t until yesterday” she says, “when he came to set me free”. She points at some shackles tied to the bedpost. “Then, he told me about the strong possibility of you being sentence to death and Sanctuary law.”

“Why were you tied to the bed? What is this place?” I look around the small, dark room. I know we are in the cathedral of Notre Dame, but I’ve never even been inside this place, therefore I’m clueless about our whereabouts. And the room is barely furnished. There’s a small window, mostly cover by an old drape, a table with two chairs, a bookcase and the bed I am currently lying on.

“This is my dormitory” she explains. “The master tied me to the bed, because he needed to punish me over my sinful behavior in the Festival of Fools…”

“Who is this master?”

“Master Snow, of course. He is my… He is in charge of me, of my salvation.”

A beat passes. I look at the ceiling trying to make sense of her words.

 “Rue, are you related to Coriolanus Snow?” I ask her. She furrows her brow but shakes her head after a moment.

“No, I don’t think so. My parents abandoned me when I was a baby, so the master took upon himself the responsibility of saving my soul. He claims is a difficult endeavor since there’s evil in my blood” she looks ate her hand, glaring at her caramel skin.

“Your dark skin does not make you evil!” I shout and my head spins again. Rue throws at me a look of panic. I hold her hand and squeeze it for reassurance. “And you did not deserve more punishment after all the things he put you through in the city square.”

Rue shakes her head at me, a blush tainting her cheeks. “I did deserve it. I kept on misbehaving after the punishment” she explains. I must not be good at concealing my confusion because she sighs and looks away.

“I like you” she mutters while looking at the floor. “And he said that it was a sin to do so”.

“Because of my skin color” I finish for her.

“Because you’re a woman” she corrects me.

Her words confuse me at first, but then hit me with force. The implication behind it it’s not completely unfamiliar, but it’s generally frown upon that a person might be romantically interested in someone of their same gender, especially between Panem citizens. In our gypsy colony, however, people seem to be less judgmental, even if it is equally confusing for them.

I think about Johanna Mason, still on a cell in the Justice Building. There were rumors about her. But nobody would dare to tell anything to Johanna. She’s strong, fearless and dauntless. Rue, on the other hand, seems to live in a restricted world, consisting only on the minister teachings. And she’s quiet, soft and fearful.

I think about her saving me in the square, using Sanctuary law to protect me. They are proof that there is a brave side in this girl, a longing for justice that comes from love.

“I am also an orphan. My parents and little sister died in the great fire, like many of my people did and some merchants. I loved my father so much. He had a beautiful voice and he taught me songs and dances that latter help me to survive.”

“My father also taught me about God and Jesus” I tell her. “He told me Jesus was a rebel at the time, that He preach about love, about rejecting the oppression his people was suffering.”

“He taught about loving thy brother” I continue, “and I don’t remember Him making exceptions for that rule.” Rue finally looks up at me. “Minister Snow might have the scriptures at the tip of his tongue at all times, but he does not live by those scriptures. He only follows silly ancient rules, not the main meaning of His message.”

I grab her hand again and I smile “Love.”

“It’s not my place to judge you, Rue, and neither is the minister’s. Only God can do that.”

“Have you ever loved someone?” she suddenly asks me.

“Yes, I have. I still love him, even though he’s most likely dead.” The tears threaten to spill from my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. “Snow stabbed him and blame his dead upon me, the person who would have given anything to save him. He was so kind and gentle.” My voice finally cracks and I stop talking, knowing I won’t be able to stop the tears anymore.

“Nobody could love a monster like me” she mutters. I sigh. It’s hard to compete with years of abuse and rooted misconceptions about herself as she has. It angers me to know that she does not see the beautiful person she is, the underlying implication of a scar making her evil.

“Imagine a beautiful crystal vase cracked and filled with dry, withering flowers. Next to it, there’s a plain pot but filled with the most beautiful and fragrant flowers, with all the colors you can imagine.” Rue looks at me, her eyes bright as if imagining the beauty of the flowers. “Look not at the face, young girl, look at the heart” I sing from the old song my father used to sing to my sister and I.

I motion Rue to climb to bed next to me and let her curl against me. I continue to sing until her breathing deepens and I know she’s asleep. I stare at the ceiling a long time, thinking of all the people I had love and lost, before sleeps finally claims me as well.

 

—·—

 

The sound of footsteps wakes me from a restless sleep. I sit up slowly and try to make sense of my surroundings. The events of the previous days filters through my mind as the first rays of the sun do so through the small window in Rue’s chamber. I look down on her, peacefully asleep despite the growing sound of footsteps.

“Rue! Rue!” I whisper loudly on her ear. “Wake up! Someone is coming!”

Rue barely has stir from sleep when the door opens with a bang. The peacekeeper drags her from my side on the bed by her hair and she screams in fear while he pushes her up a wall, restraining her movement.

“I knew I would find you like this, gypsy whore!” Minister Snow growls at me. I try to cover myself with the small blanket but he tears it away from my grasp and sneers at me. “There is nowhere to hide anymore, Katniss! You will pay for all you have done!”

I try to run away from his touch but he pins me easily enough because of the residual pain in the back of my head that slows me. I hear the peacekeeper laugh, while Rue continues to scream: “No, master! Don’t harm her! Master!”

His hands grope all over my body and I suddenly feel like throwing up. My heart pounds loudly in my ears and I can no longer hear clearly, just bits of the noise around me. “You will be mine! And then I’ll burn you at the stake!” He spits at me while squeezing my flesh to the point of hurt.

I trash around trying to free myself from his grasp, while he tears my clothes aside. I think of Peeta in that moment, his touch soft and electric, so very different from the cold and rough hands that are trying to subdue me, to own me despite my protest. Tears of pain and despair cloud my vision and my voice dies on my throat when one of his hands chokes me.

But then, as fast as he was on me, the pressure of his body leaves mine. I sit up to see him lifted by an angered Rue, that throws him against the window, dragging the old black drapes with him and letting the sun enter the room. She holds up a knife that she must have taken from the peacekeeper, now lying unconscious in the ground.

“How dare you lift a hand against the one who has fed you and clothe you, worthless creature?” Snow shouts, but his voice sounds out of breathe and he can barely stand. Rue falters at his words, dropping the knife to the floor and chokes back a sob, like it has just hit her how violent her outburst was.

“You were trying to hurt her” she mumbles. “Your were trying to impose yourself to her! And in sacred ground!”

“The Court of Parliament has agreed to remove her right to sanctuary” Minister Snow gloats. “We’ll be finally free of her enchantment. She is a witch and a whore, Rue. Look what she made you do to Peacekeeper Marvel!” he points at the blonde, still unconscious peacekeeper.

“You were not arresting her” she cries again and the minister scowls at her.

“And who are you to judge me?” he spits at Rue, still poised against the window. “You are nothing but a worthless, half-human beast! You probably don’t even have a soul, just like that filthy gypsy!”

Rue looses herself in that moment and charges against him, their tangled bodies breaking through the window and falling to a small balcony flanked by gargoyles. I scream and grab the knife, fearing for Rue in the hands of this vicious man.

I watch them struggle, not knowing what to do, until the minister gets the upper hand by pinning Rue’s body to the balustrade and hovering over her like a bird of prey. I trip with the black drapes and the idea hits me. I grab the nearest drape and throw it over the Minister’s head. Rue grabs the hem of the fabric tightening it against him, smothering him. The minister trashes around for a moment and then stumbles out of Rue’s grasps.

Still clad on the drapes, the minister stumbles around the small balcony, while Rue tries to steps away from him, fear notorious on her face. A loud whimper escapes her and gets the minister’s attention, who bends trying to grab her. Rue swats at him and he trips over the fabric, losing his footing and falling over the balustrade, to the façade of Notre Dame’s cathedral.

We both gasp at the space where Minister Snow stood only seconds ago, rooted in our places, not noticing that a new menace has stand up and it’s ready to pounce.

I see the blonde peacekeeper charge at her, his sword in hand, and I act without thinking. I throw the knife at him, aiming for his heart but missing but several inches. I watch the blade dig in the flesh of his neck, and as the red of his blood oozes from the wound I watch him fall to his knees and to the ground. Dead.

I turn to Rue in panic, still not believing what I have just done, taking a man’s life, but the sight of her stops me on my tracks. The sword of the peacekeeper is firmly planted on her abdomen and I choke back a scream of fear. I run towards her, while she plugs the blade from her body, and I manage to catch her before she falls to the ground also.

“There is a mob outside the cathedral” she mumbles. “We need to leave, Katniss. We need to get you out of here” she looks at me in desperation, pleading with me. I hastily grab the linen of the bed and press it to her stomach.

“How? They would see us! And they must know the minister is dead!” I cry, while trying to make a knot to keep the linen in place, but my hands are wet with her blood already.

“We’ll look for the Archdeacon. He’ll help us” she tells me, while pushing me towards the door. I nod and practically drag her down the narrow stairs following Rue’s instructions. Her voice gets smaller and her breath ragged and I can’t quiet the growing concern for her. She’s seriously wounded and she won’t be able to travel too far like this. She needs a medic or a healer, but in our current circumstances I don’t know how to get her to one.

As we reach the bottom of the stairs I lose my hold on her and she falls like a feather to the ground. I try to pull her to stand, but she won’t budge anymore. Instead she grabs my arm, her bright, dark eyes pleading with me. “It’s my time” she whispers.

I feel panic again, my throat closing and my hands sweating. I shake my head and try to apply more pressure to the wound, but her blood has soaked right through the linen. Suddenly my vision blurs and I don’t understand what is happening until I feel Rue’s long and slim fingers wiping my cheeks of the tears that fall down on them.

“Would you sing for me again?” she asks. I nod, choking back a sob. I try to hide the trembling on my voice while I intone a lullaby my father used to sing for my sister and I when we would have a bad dream.

 

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when you awake, the sun will rise._

 

I let go of the linen, giving up on trying to stop the bleeding. I reach for her head instead and let her rest on my lap. I brush her dark hair back and keep singing, encouraged by her sweet smile. She closes her eyes at some point but I keep on, in case she can still listen.

 

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you._

 

When the song is over, I met silence. Rue’s eyes are closed and her chest no longer moves with her breathing. It hits me then that I have lost yet another person.

No longer caring about running or hiding, my screams echo in the emptiness of the tall room while I cling to Rue’s dead body.

 

—·—

 

I don’t know how much time passes by the time his touch awakens me. I look at him, startled, his grey eyes hard while he checks for the pulse in Rue’s neck. “What happened?” is all he asks me while trying to take her corpse away from my grasp. But I just hold her tighter against me in response.

After a moment, he sighs and holds me by the shoulder, shaking me a little. “Enough, Katniss! You need to leave now! Or they will also charge you with the deaths of Snow and Rue!”

I hear a loud thump from outside and I jump. “What is happening?” I ask, my voice rough after my screams. The Archdeacon smirks at me.

“Your king, Finnick Odair, has took upon himself to distract the peacekeeper force out of the cathedral. Originally to allow you to scape through the tunnels” the Archdeacon explains. “If you ask me I think he is aiming higher, though. It looks like a very organized uprising out there. And the lifeless body of Minister Snow falling from Notre Dame only spurred them on.”

I gawk at him. An uprising? I never though I would see the day the quiet Panem would stand up for itself and recover the power from the corrupt politicians that run it.

“Come on, sweetheart, they are waiting for you!” he says cryptically. I move to stand, but before leaving I go to grab some of the flowers lying at the feet of a near sculpture of the Virgin Mary and put her over Rue’s body, covering the wet stain over her clothes and linen. Like this, all cover in flowers, she looks like she was sleeping, a small smile drawn in her lips.

The Archdeacon says nothing of my display, only nudges me out of the room, through a series of passages and dark corridors until we reach the confessionary. Opening the door for the priest, he lifts the seat and makes me climb the small whole that leads to the sewers. We walk in silence the entire path, until we see lights on the way ahead of us.

But the Archdeacon does not seem unfazed by this. If anything he seams to expect it. When we are close enough to see the people waiting for us, I am taken a back, convinced my eyes must be deceiving me. Because the people I am seeing are ghosts. 

“Katniss! Oh, God Bless, you’re alive!” he cries at the sight of me. I am left standing there, confused, while he crushes me to his chest and kisses the crown of my head over and over. I inhale the scent of him, the musk and cinnamon; I stare at his blonde curls and then gaze at the haunting blue eyes I thought I would never see again.

“Peeta? How…?” my mouth is dry, words escaping me, and suddenly my hands won’t stop roaming through the expands of his upper body, felling the thick muscle, the warm so very him. “How are you alive?”

“Your mother patched me up” he beams at me. And that’s when I met a different set of blue eyes, a lighter shade of blue I have not seen in over a decade.

“Mommy?” I whimper. She nods and holds me close to her chest, while I sob to her shirt.

“My beautiful Katniss! I though I had lost you! I though you had died like your father and sister! I though I was alone in the world!” she sobs to my hair. She pulls away a little and looks into my eyes: “I went away, after the fire. I could not stand the sight of Panem after losing all of you. But then I heard about your bravery. I knew it was my courageous girl. And I knew I had to find you.”

“She return to the Court of Miracles and found me lying on the floor where Snow left me” Peeta explains. “We had to hide after your rescue! At least until we could find a way to get you out of the cathedral safely.”

“We’ll leave Panem together. I have a house in a near city, only two days of travel away. You will be safe there, my sweet girl” my mother brushes my hair out of my face and wipes the tears of my face.

I smile sadly at her and Peeta. “It won’t work. They will come after me. They think I am a murderer.”

“They won’t. I’ll make sure they think you are dead. Go and live a happy life, sweetheart” the Archdeacon intervenes.

I turn to the Archdeacon to thank him. “Thank you so much for your help, your grace”

“Please call me Haymitch” he laughs. “We are in a sewer. Who cares about titles in here?”

I hear Peeta laugh behind me but I scowl at this. I might be a gypsy but I have my manners. “Are you leaving the city with us, Archdeacon?” I ask him, thinking of the uprising taking place over our heads.

“This is more than just an uprising” he says, as if he could read my thoughts. “It’s a rebellion. And my people need me to be here, to help them in anyway I can.”

“The cathedral is sacred ground and it can be use to protect those injured” he explains. “I am needed here”.

Something about the way he speaks tells me that the Archdeacon and I are more similar than what anyone would think just by looking at us, and that it goes beyond the grey eyes and olive skin. Something about his words calls to me and suddenly I feel guilty, because I know I won’t be able to leave Panem like this.

I turn to Peeta and my mother again, both of them watching me curiously, waiting for me to go with them, to leave behind all the pain and insanity. But I can’t do it.

“I can’t leave my people to fend for themselves” I look at them. Peeta’s eyes shine in the brightest blue I have ever seen. I hold my hand out to him, silently asking him to forgo the safest, smartest choice and take the most difficult path. “Stay with me?” I plea.

He smiles, a radiant grin that could compete in warmth with the sunshine of a glorious summer day, and takes my hand in his, squeezing reassuringly before kissing my lips and whispering to them: “Always.”

 

 

**THE END.**


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